Pleasant Dreams Children
by FracturedLittleWishes
Summary: ...It's turning out to be a real Nightmare...
1. Pleasant Dreams

_A man, who wasn't there, flitted in through the open window. _

_The room was drenched in darkness, which was good. He was only there in darkness. _

_He glanced around the room, a saw the figures of four sleeping people sprawled on the floor. Well three were sleeping; the other was more…Meditating. _

_A huge grin spread across the man-who-wasn't-there's face. _

_They'd come home from solving a successful crime, like always. They'd hadn't know what hit them, literally._

_The annoying blonde boy was the first; he'd collapsed before he'd even walked through the door. _

_The next was the scarred, big man and the pretty, blonde girl. __He'd stretched out on the sofa, yawning and the girl had snuggled up in his arms. They were out as soon as their head's touched the soft material. _

_Next was the turn of the dark haired girl. She had looked out the window, yawned and fallen back, landing on the floor with a soft thump.  
_

_Last, but not least, was the skeleton. He'd done something that looked like yawning and stretched, made to sit on the armchair and collapsed on the floor._

_The man who wasn't there grinned, if it was possible. _

_Carefully stepping over the motionless bodies, sleeping peacefully, he moved round his prizes. His movements were impossibly graceful, if you were to watch him you would have thought he was some sort of dancer. Except that was not the case, as things that aren't really there cannot move clumsily for they leave no mark, there was also the small problem of how you can not see him, for he is not there. Effortlessly he glided over the sleeping boy, passed out on the floor._

_The boy's face was calm, emotionless. He placed his long, slender fingers on his head and closed his eyes. Grinning he bent down to the boy's ear._

"Pleasant dreams."


	2. Going Home

_**Here we go, the next little bit. Hopefully it's OK. More action soon or whatever. Feeling slightly sentamental :3 **_

_**Hope you enjoy!**_

_**P.S. Two times, bits in normal are the present, the bits in italics are the past.**_

* * *

Fletcher woke up. Squinting against the sudden brightness of the day, he groaned and rolled over. "Ah, Val. Why do you have to open the window? I'm tired; I deserve a sleep-in. Val?"

He opened his eyes fully and frowned.

There was no Valkyrie, no anybody in fact. He was sat on the concrete floor of his home. The walls were scruffy, littered with the not-so-artist art work of the local kids.

He gasped, the realisation suddenly hit. He was home. He hadn't been home in years, and it was still as awful as it had been back then.

Suddenly he bolted for the one of the high-rise apartment blocks. He sprinted up the stair, taking them two at a time. When he got to the top floor he stopped, breathing heavily. Slowly he walked down the balcony, counting the door numbers. All the doors were locked and bolted, most scrawled with spray paint, it was completely deserted. Days old washing strung over the edge of the balcony.

Eventually he stopped in front of a door. It was different from the others, but so fresh in his memory.

The door hung off its hinges, just propped up by the doorframe. Inside there was no light and a foul smell was wafting outside. Tears pricked in his eyes as they drifted over the number, 1313. Home. Climbing through the whole where the door should have been, he sniffed and wiped his nose. Walking down the hallway he ran his hands along the dirty, old yellow wallpaper.

The colour scheme had been his mother's idea. The hall was a sunshine yellow, the living room a bright red, the kitchen lime green, the bathroom blue, his parent's room deep purple and his own was a rainbow of colours.

"Why should I be boring? If I like bright colours, I'm having bright colours!" She'd laughed when her husband questioned it. Her bubbly voice was still fresh in his head, as if he'd said it right next to him.

When he was little, it has been vibrant and bright, happy.

* * *

_Fletcher ran up the stairs of his block of flats, making sure to wave to Mrs Peters, the kind old lady who always gave him sweets. He could feel the tears brimming up behind his eyes, he couldn't cry here, not like a baby. His thumb was bright red and throbbing, but he was being brave. So he didn't cry._

_Smashing the door to his colourful home open he sat on the floor and howled his head off. The tears ran down his face, and he heard someone walk in from the kitchen._

_"Now, now. What's all this? Mummy's little soldier crying?"_

_"It hurts!" He wailed back._

_"Oh darling come here. Let me see, oh yes. Your poor little thumb. I know what will make it better, a kiss! Do you think that'll work?"_

_He'd shaken his head stubbornly._

_"Really? Is it that bad? Oh dear. Well no harm in trying." She scooped him up into a huge bear hug and tickled him stomach. He squealed in protest, laughing too much to speak. Plopping him on the scarlet sofa she examined his little hand. Tenderly she kissed the red thumb and looked into his teary eyes._

_"There, better my little soldier?"_

_He nodded. He knew his Mum didn't really have magic healing powers but it really, honestly felt much better. _

_Fletcher loved his Mum. Lots. _

_He loved his Dad lots. He had an loving childhood, sure the estate was a bit rough, but everyone doted on him. _

_His Mum worked from home so every time he came back from playing outside, the house would be filled with all sorts of wonderful baking smells. _

_Then his Dad would come home and they'd eat as a family, that was one thing his mother insisted upon, teatime was family time. _

_After they'd pay some games and at 7:00 he'd get carried to bed, where his mother would read him a story, and kiss him good night and his dad would check the room for any monsters (not that he was scared or anything) before turning the light out. _


End file.
